Today...

- I decided to stay home from work. I've been consulting for the Big International Company since February, and in the beginning of my assignment I had enough work to merit 4 full days in the office per week. Now, the assignment is naturally coming to a close as I push the projects forward, and I find myself very, very bored at the office most of the time. So today I decided to do something productive with my day, enjoy it to the fullest...especially since I've accepted a "real" full-time job set to start on October 1st. More on that later.

- I had two cups of coffee and a cup of tea.

- I made three pairs of colorful cluster earrings with trade beads from Mozambique Island, and two pairs of big wooden disc earrings with crystals and pearls hanging off the bottom. The National Crafts Fair is just around the corner, and I'm definitely in full-on production mode.

- I made a ricotta cheese cake for an afternoon snack.

- I had a great talk with Rico about financial planning and our investment and savings goals for the short and long term.

- Rico and I took Parceiro to the vet for day two of treatment for a urinary infection. I'm so glad to have his help in taking the boys to the vet. I hate the vet almost as much as the cats do. Somehow their fear and stress and restlesness transfers straight to me, and I feel like crying every time I have to watch them be held down on the examining table. But now, I just go along for the ride and sit in the waiting room while Rico deals with the difficult parts.

- I made plans to go to an African modern dance class tonight with a new friend, which I am very excited about.

- I made fresh juice in the juicer (apple, pear and orange mix).

- I lamented the sad state of my potted plants on the verandah. The only ones doing well are the bouganvilhas; the two ficus trees have pale small leaves and refuse to perk up and grow, and the hibiscus are infested with aphids that no matter how many times I treat, they always come back with a vengeance. I'm considering throwing out the hibiscus and doing a mini herb garden in the pots instead.

- I surfed the internet.

- I enjoyed this unexpected, self-granted present of a day off!

Master Goal List for August 2009

I'd like to look back at this one year from now and see that I managed to accomplish most of these objectives.

1. Contribute $xxxx per month to savings, so that I am on track to having the equivalent of 3 month's salary available by October 2009.

2. Contribute $2,000 to IRA by December 2008. Self-employment in a foreign country = no reliable pension fund unless I create one myself.

3. Visit Kruger Park. It's 2 hours away, and we've yet to go.

4. Visit Ilha de Moçambique. One of my dreams is to sift through the sand and find some of the trade beads I use so often in my jewelry.

5. Take a proper holiday to celebrate our 1-year wedding anniversary. Plan ahead, book tickets, hotel rooms, etc.

6. Maintain my health and fitness level so that my wedding dress still fits on our anniversary. Try it on and enjoy the memories!

7. Submit a piece of my writing for publication.

8. Donate at least $200 to an animal shelter.

9. Send the thank-you notes for our wedding by November 2008.

10. Legally change my name on all pertinent documents by November 2008. This will be a bit of a nightmare, but I must make the effort.

11. Remodel the kitchen in our flat. At the very least, change the cabinets.

12. Paint all the walls in our flat. We've already done the living room, and it made a giant difference. Totally worth the effort.

13. Learn how to parallel park in a right-hand-drive car. I can't really do it well with the wheel on the other side either, but not knowing how to properly park causes me daily stress.

Perhaps I will add to this list with time, but these are the big ones that come to mind at the moment.

Suburbando

Yesterday the clouds rolled in, bringing with them a fine mist and what most likely will be the last cold spell of the year here in Maputo. Yes, cold is relative, but nonetheless this chilly-enough-to-wear-a-sweater weather is delicious preparation for the hot winds and sticky humidity I know are lurking right around the corner.

My friend Lindsey had spent the night after an incredibly fun birthday celebration for Zé Curral on Saturday, and we enjoyed the change in the weather with big mugs of coffee and freshly baked biscuits (American-style southern biscuits, not what we call cookies). We sat around the living room in our pajamas and gossiped, enjoying our girl time.

I offered to take Lindsey back to the house where her host family lives, as it's hard to get a taxi on a Sunday, plus she didn't really know the way home and is still in the process of learning Portuguese. I vaguely knew the way out to Malhazine, the suburb where Lindsey is staying, and figured that we'd managed to find our way somehow.

We drove towards the airport, then onto the continuation of Av. Julius Nyerere, past the rows of informal sellers of wooden planks and intricately carved headboards. The road got increasingly worse as we drove through the heart of the Xiquelene marketplace, bumping through potholes and puddles of rainwater, avoiding the mad chapa drivers, and weaving through the throngs of children, chickens and ladies with basins on their heads. Past Xiquelene, we drove to the Magoanine roundabout, then towards the national highway. There were increasingly fewer private cars on the road, save for the occasional tricked-out 4x4 zooming by, filled with partygoers just returning home from a good Saturday night. We followed the Malhazine chapas, and finally got to a point where Lindsey recognized her surroundings and was able to pinpoint the turnoff to her host family's house.

The road from that point on consisted of sand, so soft in some places I became worried that our car would get stuck. We drove slowly, past groups of men drinking beer, women selling vegetables, children chasing homemade balls down alleyways. We turned at the One Cell umbrella where a fat woman sat waiting for someone to use the public phone. Everyone stared. We were a novelty for multiple reasons: we were in a car in a point of the suburb where few vehicles pass; we were white; we were unaccompanied women; we were strangers, though seemingly not lost and heading towards a specific destination.

Finally we pulled up to the host family's house. It is nice, painted light pink on the outside with a wall and a gate. Lindsey told me that, despite the fact that the house is surrounded by simple shacks, the family seems to be reasonably well-off. They have a TV and a stereo system. They have running water and electricity. Just like in Rio's favelas, there is an amazing range of constructions and many different types of families living in the perceived-to-be-poor suburbs of Maputo.

We said goodbye, and I started on the long drive back to the city, the concrete city that makes up my daily reality. We live in Polana Cimento, the sturdy, rich, recent part of the neighborhood. On the other side is Polana Caniço, a reference to the reeds used in the construction of traditional huts in this region. Although many buildings in Polana Caniço are now made of bricks and blocks, the name remains, along with its connotations of a city divided.

The drive back was pleasant. I listened to The Police and rolled down the window to get a bit of cool, fresh air. I knew the way back, and that satisfied me. Even in the outskirts of the city, I can find my way around, such a contrast to the first 6 months of living in Maputo when I was perpetually disoriented, unable to wrap my mind around the way the cidade alta (upper city) and the cidade baixa (lower city) connected.

Despite knowing my way, I managed to get lost while driving through Xiquelene. There were so many people, so many market stalls, so much general chaos that I couldn't tell where the road was. I decided to follow the flow of "traffic" (i.e. several chapas and the odd private car) creeping through the market, figuring that they would likely be going to the city. After a few minutes of increasingly worse road conditions and the realization that I was headed deeper into the neighborhood around Xiquelene, I knew I had to turn around. Where, though? And with what strategy in mind? There was no room to maneuver, and I was quite disoriented. I continued to follow the cars and chapas in front of me, and to my relief saw an opening in the market stalls up ahead where I could turn around the car and head back to the main "road". After a while, I saw what looked to be a main path, decided to take it, and finally ended up on the continuation of Av. Vladmir Lenine, definitely not the route I'd taken previously, but a familiar street that would lead me back to the city.

I made it home without further incident, and made it upstairs before the rain started. I spent the rest of the day watching TV, using the internet, having tea with a friend, eating leftover curry. I couldn't get the differences between my Maputo experience and Lindsey's out of my head. Maputo is a place of massive contrasts - in my opinion, even more striking than those you see in Brazil.

Amor Amaro

I love these photos of Rico. They capture him so well. I could stare at them all day. They make my heart swell. Actually it's not the images; he makes my heart swell.

Wedding Memories

I find it incredibly difficult to describe our wedding using words. Even the photos don't seem to capture it all, though they certainly give an idea of the warmth and positive vibrations of the evening.

Instead of trying to tell you about our wedding in a chronological, narrative fashion, I will simply list some of the moments that stick out in my memory. To those of you who attended, maybe you can add to the list in the comments, as we certainly have different perspectives on the event.

The things I remember most about our wedding are:

- Not knowing if my wedding dress would fit! I bought the dress over a year before the wedding on a trip to visit my mom in California. For various reasons (insane humidity that makes clothes mold over, Rico and I sharing a small flat with no hiding places, our empregada's frequent clumsy tendencies), we decided the dress would be best off left in the climate-controlled safety of my mom's closet. I went back to California in December, but didn't try on the dress specifically because I knew I'd put on a bit of weight and knew that at that point I wouldn't fit in the tight, custom-tailored gown. I didn't want to make myself unnecessarily depressed. So, starting around May, Rico and I started on a bit of a fitness kick. I knew roughly my weight when we'd bought the dress, and that became my goal. However, once in Rio, we didn't go to the gym and I wasn't near the scale. I just had to watch what I ate and pray to God that the dress would zip. For some reason I didn't try it on before the big day. I have no idea why I created such suspense for myself. Anyhow, literally hours before the ceremony, the makeup artist and my mom helped me into my wedding dress. It passed over my hips without a problem (the area I was worried about), however the makeup artist let out a groan as she realized there was no possible way it was going to zip around my chest! Thankfully I had on a bustier (a little lift and filling had been necessary when we purchased the dress) and I breathed a giant sigh of relief when, after removing the undergarmet, the wedding dress zipped without a problem and actually fit better then when I'd had it custom-tailored the year before!

- This was the first time I'd had my makeup professionally done. It turned out beautiful, but it was not a painless process. I had a really difficult time letting Alessandra put the eyeliner on me, especially when she rimmed the inside of my eyes. It was a good thing everything on my face was waterproof, because I had tears flowing even before I was dressed (not from emotion, though, it was a reaction to having someone mess with my eyes).

- My mom and I had our makeup and hair done together, also a first. It was a really nice bonding experience, and she looked absolutely gorgeous.

- I had a personal attendant for the night, a girl called Giselle. She followed behind me all evening with tissues, lip gloss, breath mints, aspirin, band-aids, and anything else I could possibly need. She also made sure I had enough water to drink, that I was able to eat the delicious food at the reception, and that I had someone to hold my pro secco while we took photos and danced.

- I was very relaxed in the hours leading up to the ceremony. I was definitely in the moment, but I wasn't nervous or concerned about the details or stressed about anything. I was just excited for it all to happen. Giselle and the makeup artist commented that I was the most chilled out bride-to-be they had ever seen.

- Emotion did strike, though, as I was walking out of the Casa Rosa on my dad's arm. There was a giant crowd of people outside the house, as that weekend there was an art festival in Santa Teresa called Arte de Portas Abertas. The streets tend to get packed with people doing the arts crawl, dancing to live music, and having a beer as they wander around the old neighborhood and chat with friends. The crowd had realized there was a wedding, and that the wedding party was walking across the street to the church from the Casa Rosa. There were about 30 people gathered when I walked out of the gate with my dad. They all cheered, many took photos, and it was a true feeling of celebrity as I walked across the trolley tracks in my gown, Giselle holding up my train so that it wouldn't get dirty dragging along the cobblestones.

- The high point of emotion for me was entering the church to walk down the aisle. Everyone was there! I didn't cry during the entire ceremony and reception, but I did let out a weird murmur-moan-sigh noise while walking down the aisle, as if there was simply too much emotion inside me and it had to escape somehow since I wasn't giving in to tears.

- We had a live quintet at the church, and I entered to Villa Lobos. I was somehow aware of the music, but it was as if I was walking through water, because I really didn't hear it in detail.

- Speaking of music, ours was as follows:
Entrance of bridesmaids and groomsmen: Divertssiment by Saint-Preux
Entrance of parents and groom: Brandemburg Concert by Bach
Entrance of bride: Bachianas no. 5 by Villa Lobos
Blessing of the rings: Aria on the 4th chord by Bach
Signatures: Canon in D by Pachelbel
Exit: Brother Sun, Sister Moon by Riz Ortolani

- We got married in the Anglican Church, which meant we could choose any music we wanted for the ceremony. Still, we stuck to classical music instead of going with bossa nova or popular songs done instrumentally.

- Our ceremony was bilingual and bicultural. We did the church entrance in Brazilian style (bridesmaids and groomsmen walk in first, as couples; followed by the groom's father and the bride's mother, then the groom and his mother; finally the bride enters with her father). On the altar, all the bridesmaids and groomsmen, as well as the bride and groom's parents stand together for the ceremony. The bride's parents stand arm-in-arm, as do the groom's parents. Rico and I were very grateful our parents all get along well despite the fact that we come from a long line of divorces.

- As for the ceremony, our very cool, young, female Reverend did half the prayers and blessings in English, half in Portuguese. Rico and I had prepared booklets to be distributed among our guests so everyone could follow along in the language he or she understood. In the middle of the ceremony, Jenny, our maid-of-honor, read a passage from Corinthians in beautiful British English. At that point I nearly cried, but for some reason the tears weren't inclined to gush forth.

- One of our bridesmaids fainted at the altar! Good thing Rico's family has several medical doctors. His uncle Marcelo rushed to the rescue, and in a few minutes time, the bridesmaid was back in action. It served a good lesson - I realized I'd been locking my knees, and apparently my dad told my mom to unlock hers as well.

- Rico looked sooooooooo handsome!!!

- We had a total of 8 witnesses sign the book at the altar. Rico signed with his father's Mont Blanc pen, then without thinking slipped it in the pocket of his blazer. When Rico realized what he'd done, he made a joke and handed the pen back to his dad. Instead of accepting it, Rico's dad decided a Mont Blanc would make a nice surprise wedding gift so his son could continue to sign important contracts in style.

- Walking out of the church, once all was said and done, Rico and I were greeted by a massive crowd of people. They all cheered and whistled and took photos of the new couple. One guy hollered out, in good cynical Brazilian style, "Meu irmão, daqui pra frente só piora!" Essentially, my brother, from here on out it's all downhill!

- The security guards we hired for the party had to stop traffic and make a human corridor for us to be able to leave the church and get back to the Casa Rosa. It was a very cool feeling.

- The house looked incredible. Our wedding planner really did a fabulous job with the decorating. There were colored lights in all the right places, furniture from Mineirarte, this shop that does antique-style bar furniture with mosaic tops in the design of the boardwalks on Copacabana and Ipanema. It was perfect, as we'd just redone the courtyard to have that exact type of paving stones.

- In Brazil, you cut the cake right after the ceremony is over, not towards the end of the party like in the US. Rico and I made the initial cut, and I waited silently to see if smashing cake in each other's faces was part of the Brazilian tradition. Thankfully for my makeup, it wasn't. :) Our parents gathered around the cake and we took the first set of formal photos of the evening.

- The cake was gorgeous, and delicious to boot. It was essentially a copy of the famous Lalique cake, but with an ivory background and terracotta leaves and scroll designs, with some gold accents and a cluster of white flowers on the top. We happily left out the cartoon bride and groom on top of the cake, as it fits with neither my style nor Rico's. The cake itself was like a vanilla pound cake but with a spongy texture, filled with a layer of apricot and a layer of brigadeiro branco (like caramel made with condensed milk).

- And then there was the party. The reception was so much fun, so classy, so unique. I could go on for ages. :) I will dedicate a different post to the food and general ambience of the reception as it really deserves photos for you to get the idea.

Phew!! There is so much to remember, so much to write about...

The Day After Becoming Mrs. Amaro

It was one of Rio's finest days - clear deep blue sky, warm winter sun, relatively empty beach, and all the bliss of having no obligations whatsoever besides eating a sandwich, enjoying a cold beer and reading the Vietnam guidebook while sunning by the pool at the hotel.

Rico and I couldn't stop talking about the highlights of the wedding and how much fun we had at the reception. The general consensus was this (excuse my Portuguese): Que casamento foda!!

More Rehearsal Dinner

This time from my little camera, though several of these were taken by people other than me (obviously).

My bridesmaid Gaby, whom I hadn't seen since 2000.

Jenny (my maid of honor) and I painstakingly made name tags and did a seating chart for the dinner. After a certain number of drinks, we noticed the boys had reappropriated the name tags to identify everyone's glass of wine or beer.

Gaby and groomsman Mark, looking fierce.

Jenny and my cousin Lauren having a good laugh - very likely because of something said or done by our best man.

Everything about this photo perfectly illustrates El Erik, groomsman extrordinaire.

Rico translating my Dad's speech. Rico's maternal grandmother, Maria Antônia, looks amused.

Aside from the incredibly moving speech given by Rico's father, this is my main memory of the rehearsal dinner: cracking up to the point of crying thanks to the stories told by Chocolate, our best man. At this moment, I believe he was telling us about the time he fell asleep on the night bus in London, then, after a hilarious sequence of events, managed to light his hair on fire to round off the evening.

Chocolate, my cousin Jeff and El Erik. And this was just the beginning of the night!

Me and Jenny - our friendship started thanks to this blog. We are currently neighbors here in Maputo, and she managed to fly all the way across the globe to be our madrinha.

I used to hold Lauren as a baby, and now she's a good 6 inches taller than I am. Here, however, my heels make it seem nearly even.

I believe this laugh was thanks to Mark.

Rico and I took this photo when we were back at our hotel room at Praia Ipanema (we were kicked out of the Casa Rosa for the night so that the decorators could get everything ready for the big day). We looked at each other and marveled at the fact that it was our last night as single people...

View of Ipanema beach on the night before our wedding, taken from our hotel balcony.

650

Is the number of posts I've written on this blog since it all began in April 2005. On the positive side, blogging is something I've been able to keep up with relative consistency and that I truly enjoy. On the not-so-positive side, blogging has cannibalized my private, hand-written journaling.

I've tried several times over the past years to resuscitate my journal, but to no avail. So while blogging has made me think more about the writing process and put more effort (sometimes!) into the finished piece than when I was just writing for myself, it has also led me to abandon the kind of truthful pouring out of words that private writing permits. I realize it's possible to make posts private, or to restrict access, or to even not publish and simply leave as a draft, forever suspended in the list of posts on the control panel.

For me, however, that doesn't work. When I sit down at the computer to write, it is with my public-writer hat on. Paper and pen are for private, personal thoughts. Obviously I've shared very intimate things on the blog on several occasions over the past 3-odd years, but I realize that there are whole experiences and thoughts and events that transpired in that same period whose detail has been effectively lost because I didn't manage to journal them.

I suppose that's how it goes - habits evolve and change, entailing both things lost and things gained. I have nearly a perfect daily record of my life from age 15 to age 23, and for that I am incredibly grateful. I realize how unique it is, and I am slowly transcribing the words on unlined paper, formed with colored inks and decorated with stickers and pasted ticket stubs and ribbons and other memorabilia, to my computer. It's an on-again-off-again project, but I intend to get back to it soon. I don't want to lose that history.

In the meantime, I will keep blogging, continue with my public, open writing that has led me to meet so many incredible people. It captures a different side of me, of the experiences I have, and this too is very valuable. Only 5 more years and I'll match my journaling record!